


grass stains (if this world were mine)

by iamthegeneralissimo



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, it’s called grass stains cuz there’s wholesome outdoor sex, oh my god it’s so fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:30:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthegeneralissimo/pseuds/iamthegeneralissimo
Summary: Summers are hotter than hell in a town called Purgatory. Nicole and Waverly find ways to pass the time.—“Nicole laughs because she loves how the days have stretched out, exactly like this one has, into a brilliant array of coral and soft gold. Waverly laughs because it’s as natural to her as breathing, just like how she guides Nicole to the ground. The corners of Waverly’s eyes wrinkle as she does this and Nicole knows it’ll be as endearing to her now as it will be when they’re both stooped and gray. The heat stops bothering her altogether—how could it when Waverly is her sun?”





	grass stains (if this world were mine)

Never before has Nicole had to wade through the air like it's a pool, humidity thick and cloying and gathering heat in uncomfortable places. She considers herself lucky that the sheriff's department even has a summer uniform, that her black tie is starker than the sweat blossoming against her starched white dress shirt.

She fans herself with the wide brim of her hat and plucks at strands of frizzy, fiery hair before jamming it back onto her head. Tendrils of sweat drip down her temple and she does her best to ignore it—it won’t get to her, this heat, not today. She vows to get through her shift at the street-fair without tearing her clothes off and launching herself into the nearest cooler.

A condensed version of Purgatory lies before her, gathered under tarpaulin and makeshift tents and busier, she’s pleased to see, than the year prior. Shorty’s voice blares through the speakers as he announces the start of the pie-eating contest. Nicole spots Dolls seated at the end of a row of picnic tables, copper flashing in his eyes and sporting the world’s tiniest bib over his broad chest. She can almost hear a snarl slipping past his clenched teeth. Wynonna is seated a table down doubled over in laughter and wearing the same bib. Nicole doesn’t need her to confess to know she slipped Dolls’s name into the pool of contestants.

‘You’re going down, son,’ Wynonna crows as she slams her fists on the table. The gathering crowd lets out appreciative laughter. ‘I’m fucking starving, Shorty, let’s go.’ She winks at the only other contestant, seated between her and Dolls, who has the common sense to look sufficiently cowed.

Nicole’s eyes land on Doc leaning against the contest marquee with an unlit cigarillo dangling from his upturned lips. Waverly has her arm looped around his. She’s wearing a bright sundress that brings out her eyes and the expanse of bare skin under her hemline makes Nicole’s cheeks flush.

‘Hey, cutie.’ Waverly reaches for her when Nicole makes her approach.

‘Ma’am,’ Nicole drawls and tips her hat in an exaggerated salute, ‘’fraid I’m going to have to write you a ticket. It’s a crime, you see, to look like a tall—’ Nicole pauses to look down at her girlfriend and course-corrects, ‘—tall-ish drink of water on a hot summer’s day.’

Waverly rolls her eyes but tiptoes to kiss her anyway. Wynonna whips her head around, ‘Still got ears, Officer Haught. Stop undressing my sister with your eyes.’

Waverly’s eyes go dark when she fingers the knot of her black tie. Nicole protests, ‘Excuse me, your sister’s the one—’ but Wynonna already has her back turned. She throws her hands up in mock resignation and goes back to patrolling.

 

—

 

It’s a yearly event, the street fair. It happens around the same time as the oil rig motormen and drillers and roughnecks take collective breaks and trickle into the nearest small town, mingling with the seasonal farm hands and day trippers who come through to drink in their fill of quaint, mildly supernatural atmosphere. Sated, they pick up jars of preserves and bags of cheap produce on their way out. And it’s the same stalls, the same faces, the same goods year in and year out because it’s a small town and that’s just what small towns do. It walks the tightrope between morose and charming, Nicole decides.

She passes Shorty slinging pints from his stall flanked by Gus and a young man she knows just moved into town. Gus gives her a clipped nod. She walks past someone peddling ceramics and rocks with dubious claims, past the young girls with toothy grins selling fresh lemonade and apple juice, and past Jeremy who greets her through a mouthful of potato salad. ‘How you doin’, officer?’ He waves a buttered corn cob at her.

She pauses at the food stalls and her mouth waters at the smell of grilled meat and warm bread. Relish and sweet cucumbers and piccalilli sit next to ketchup and mustard and raw onions. She checks her watch—less than an hour to go before she can clock off.

A string of minor incidents keep her busy. A squabble breaks out along the food line. She escorts a faint Mrs. Adler to the first aid tent and fetches her a cup of water. A voice squawks from the radio clipped to her shoulder, ‘10-15, corner of Main and Birch, over.’ She responds, ‘Officer Haught to dispatch, 10-4.’

She hustles over to find Champ and his buddies trying to crack open a fire hydrant. ‘It’s hot and I get it, boys,’ Nicole tries not to sound too exasperated and they shrug at what’s essentially a slap on the wrist. She tries not to picture stepping into the gush of water herself. She might just give Waverly a run for her wet t-shirt money.

She does another loop of the festivities for good measure before rendezvousing with Nedley. ‘Thanks, chief,’ Nicole says when he hands her an icy bottle of water. She presses it to her temple. The condensation mingles with her sweat. ‘Bit of a scorcher, eh? Remind me why we don’t do this in the fall?’

‘Because Purgatory’s a small town and small towns don’t do change.’ Nedley presses his own bottle to his forehead.

Together they walk over to where Doc and Wynonna are making quick work of the shooting gallery, the crowd behind them looking more sombre with every prize the attendant pulls off the shelf. Wynonna cheers when they collect their loot and she places an exaggerated smooch to Doc’s cheek, locking his head in her hands like a vice. Nicole can tell he doesn’t mind by the way he shifts his weight to accommodate her.

‘We need to step up our game if that’s their idea of foreplay,’ Nicole mutters when Waverly appears by her elbow. Waverly snorts.

‘Hey, Doc,’ Wynonna calls from behind the comically large stuffed toy she’s cradling to her chest, ‘wanna go for a spin on the carousel?’ She doesn’t wait to hear his answer before she barrels toward the ride. They’ve barely mounted the laqueured steeds when a loud series of buzzes and pops permeate the air. Evaporative fans and floodlights stutter to a halt and Nicole hears boos rippling throughout the fair. Nicole vaguely registers Ewan and his on-call fire squad putting out a small inferno behind one of the stalls.

Nedley rushes to the backup generators. ‘Happens every year,’ his voice is gruff when Nicole catches up to him, ‘I don’t know why we keep putting ourselves through this.’ She asks if he needs her to stay. Nedley checks his watch and shakes his head. ‘No, you go on and enjoy the rest of your day.’ He nods pointedly at Waverly.

 

—

 

Nicole watches the embers dance in Wynonna’s eyes when she chirps, ‘S’mores, anyone?’ Waverly shrugs, ‘Sure.’

But the moment Wynonna starts pilfering the nearest stall for supplies, Waverly grabs Nicole’s wrist and drags her to the parking lot. They’re halfway to the homestead by the time the backup generators stutter to life.

 

—

 

They make for the edge of the woods, grass whipping at their shins. Nicole laughs because she loves how the days have stretched out, exactly like this one has, into a brilliant array of coral and soft gold. Waverly laughs because it’s as natural to her as breathing, just like how she guides Nicole to the ground. The corners of Waverly’s eyes wrinkle as she does this and Nicole knows it’ll be as endearing to her now as it will be when they’re both stooped and gray. The heat stops bothering her altogether—how could it when Waverly is her sun?

They bask in the moment they’ve created. ‘Never really appreciated the sky until I moved to Purgatory,’ Nicole remarks to Waverly, tucked into her chest. There’s a twig digging into her back and pine needles in her hair when she chides, ‘I have an apartment, you know. And you have a house.’ Waverly props herself up by her elbows, smiles into Nicole’s mouth and amends, ‘A house with incredibly thin walls and a cockblock of an older sister.’

Nicole hisses when Waverly’s hand brushes past her belt buckle and rests against the seam of her crotch. ‘She’s probably still at the street fair,’ she chokes out.

‘Uh-huh, and she’ll head straight for the house when she realizes we ghosted her.’ Waverly deepens the kiss. Then she releases Nicole’s lower lip with a pop and looks up. ‘Actually, I think we’re technically still on the homestead.’

‘And I am technically overdressed for this.’ Nicole sighs as Waverly peppers her with kisses and undoes her buttons with deft fingers. A light breeze whispers against her almost-bare skin and she has to grin at Waverly when she pulls at her tie. ‘Bless whoever designed these uniforms,’ Waverly breathes, her eyes glazed over.

‘Shame it’s only ever really this hot a couple of times a year. I’m realizing maybe sundresses might be my thing.’ It’s rucked up dangerously high now and Nicole works hard to swallow. Something coils low and warm in her belly when she palms through the folds of Waverly’s dress to find her center. She drags flimsy cotton panties past trembling thighs and off completely.

Determined, Waverly trails more kisses against Nicole’s neck, bruising and increasingly urgent, and grazes her collarbone with her teeth. ‘Baby,’ she pleads. ‘Baby, baby, baby.’

Waverly could have the world, Nicole vows, if only it were hers to give.

Waverly shifts so she can can bracket Nicole’s face with her thighs. Nicole’s head swims. Her mouth waters. They’re both so eager and ready and willing—it may not be the world, Nicole thinks, but it is enough.

And so Waverly loses herself in a way Nicole’s neither seen nor heard before. Nicole is lost too, thinking about Waverly’s belongings and the spaces they take up in her apartment.

The migration happens, as these things are wont to do, slowly. The pace is gradual, barely even noticeable, until one day she stands in her living room marvelling at how there are more pairs of Waverly’s boots by the door than her own; how when she opens her kitchen cupboard there are two kinds of cereal and an extra set of crockery; how when she sits at her kitchenette the only other chair she owns doesn’t buckle under the weight of magazines and books and unopened mail. Waverly’s cardigan hangs off its back instead.

She picked up a coffee cup once, crescent-stained in Waverly’s lip color, and wondered if a day might come when she’d feel compelled to rinse it clean.

Waverly lets out a strangled cry above her. Nicole slows her movements until Waverly shifts and cups her slick cheek with a tenderness incongruent with the force of her thrusts. She kisses Nicole like she’s apologizing for the frenzy of her desire until it makes the ache between her legs almost unbearable. She only needs to moan once, low, for Waverly to understand.

Nicole likens this migration to the way Waverly sinks herself deeper into her, inch by glorious inch, until there is nowhere else for her to go.

All Nicole can do is make a home for her.

**Author's Note:**

> I assume this is what happens at state fairs and shit. Correct my false impressions @soyelgeneralissimo on tumblr.


End file.
